


Irritable Bowel Syndrome

by sunfishdunes



Series: Mundane Everlark [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:07:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunfishdunes/pseuds/sunfishdunes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even Everlark can make it sexy…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irritable Bowel Syndrome

__

 

_Hey, Sweets. I’ll be a few minutes late. Picking up book at library. <3_

I glance down at my phone and type a quick, “No problem, 143,” before turning back to the task at hand. The manicotti is almost ready to come out of the oven, salad is prepped, garlic bread will go in once Katniss gets here, and I’m hoping that the single cannoli I brought home from Mike’s will remind my wife of that really hot date we had in the North End that gave us —

“Daddy!” My daughter, Tess, screams from upstairs. “Benny called Dolly a poo-poo face!”

Sigh. I _really_ need the kids to be on their best behavior tonight. A big meal should get them in bed by 8, no problem, giving Katniss and I a little extra time to reconnect. We’ve gotten a little lax in that department. “No one is a poo-poo head,” I call.

“Poo-poo FACE! He said poo-poo _face_!”

“No one is poo-poo anything. Come on kids, wash up and come downstairs. Momma will be here soon!”

“Marmar?” I look over to see Ben, our squishy, toddling, sunshine boy. Based on the sticky smudges on his hands and face, he escaped his sister and ran straight to me to help him out.

“Yes, Momma. Come on, Big Ben, we need to hose you down.” I lift him easily and turn on the kitchen sink, squirting some soap into his small hands. Once those look clean, I swipe a damp paper towel over his mouth until his protests force me to put him down.

Tess joins us in the kitchen, and I swear she looks more and more like her mother every day. While Ben is a mini-me right down to the dimples in his cheeks, Tess reminds me so much of Katniss at that age. Aside from the poo-poo face kind of arguments, she’s fiercely protective of her baby brother. Hell, she tried biting someone who wanted to hold Ben when he was just an infant. All Katniss.

“Tessie, can you put the napkins out?”

That’s all interrupted when the side door opens, blowing in my beautiful wife to a chorus of, “Mommy!” Both kids attack her legs and I smile before joining in the huddle, kissing her soundly.

“Mmmmmm, something smells good!” She looks down at the kids and then back to me. “You’ve been busy, I see. Sorry I’m late.”

“Not a big deal. Did you get your book?”

“Yeah. I’m looking forward to starting it a bit later. Everyone at work has been talking about it.”

“Well I hope you won’t be too disappointed if you don’t get much reading in.” I lean in and gently nip her earlobe before whispering, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Katniss giggles and kisses my nose before extricating herself to wash up. “Is that a fact?”

…

My plan worked. Bellies full of Italian food have led to Benny and Tess’ early bedtime. I tiptoe downstairs and find Katniss closing the door of the dishwasher. I try to sneak up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. “They’re asleep.”

“Want some wine?”

“Please.”

We walk to the family room and make small talk about our days in an attempt to settle in. Her head eventually makes it to my lap and I absentmindedly stroke her hair.

“So I noticed the Mike’s box on the counter. What did you pick up?”

I wiggle my eyebrows and ask if she’d like to find out, but she declines, saying that she’s still full from dinner.

Well that fizzled. I even had a dick joke ready.

“Tell me about the book you brought home, then.” Point, Peeta for remembering!

“Some of the women at work have been raving about it. It’s just a diet book I thought I’d skim through.”

Hold the phone. “Diet book? Since when do you need to diet?”

“Since squeezing out two children in three years.” She looks toward the fire and murmurs, “My body doesn’t want to bounce back like it did after Tess and it is bothering me.”

I hold her hand and say what I know is true. “You’re beautiful. And you brought us two beautiful children.”

Katniss sits up and faces me. “I know that. And I love them more than life. I just don’t like how soft everything has gotten. This book is supposed to help, and I figured it couldn’t hurt to give it a read.”

It takes all of my willpower to not roll my eyes at her, but I manage to give her a small smile. “So lay it on me. What’s it called?”

“Wheat Belly.”

I couldn’t get the dick joke in, but I’m not going to let this one pass me by. I lift up my t-shirt, exposing my (slightly rounder now that I’m thinking about it) stomach. “I’ve got your wheat belly right here, baby.”

“Not funny, Peeta.” She pokes my belly and scowls. “We both have been a little carb happy. A little bit of the kids’ mac and cheese, leftovers from the bakery, big breakfasts…we’re not doing ourselves any favors.”

“Yeah, well I hate to state the obvious, but those carbs are our livelihood. What do you think I sell down at the bakery?”

“I know, I know. Just—” she gives me that face she knows I can’t resist—“let me figure this out. You don’t have to change anything. It’ll be my little experiment.”

“Katniss, you don’t need to do this for me. You know that, right?”

“Ugh, yes!” She sits back and crosses her arms over her chest. “Why do you assume I’m doing it for anyone other than me? God, you can be such a guy, Peeta.”

Yeah, I’m a dolt. And a guy. Who wasted a dick joke.

“Listen, that didn’t come out right at all. I just wanted tonight to be about us. I got us a cannoli from Mike’s, the Cabernet you love…”

Her posture relaxes and she leans toward me with a sheepish smile. “I know I overreacted. Sorry.” Katniss places small kisses to my cheeks, jaw, and finally my lips. After a dubious beginning, this evening might be looking up. _Cannoli._ “I’m going to start tomorrow, so why don’t we have a small bite of dessert before taking this upstairs?”

I lick my lips and nod. God, my wife is hot.

She takes my hand and we walk to the dark kitchen. Katniss finds the scissors to cut the twine on the box and reaches in to grab that glorious confection. God help me. She feeds me a small bite and I do the same before she puts the rest back in the box. Pouting, I look forlornly at the dessert I so desperately want to finish.

“Now Peeta, don’t get greedy. There’s more dessert upstairs.”

Katniss walks away and I swear she mumbles, “And I swear to god if you say one thing about your cannoli in my wheat belly, I’ll toast you for breakfast.”

…

Day one and Katniss seems to be running on all cylinders. I, on the other hand, want some toast with my eggs. Apparently in the throes of my orgasm last night, I promised Katniss I’d try this gluten-free thing, too. I complained that it wasn’t fair to ask me such a thing considering the bakery and the timing of the question, but once my wife has something in her head, it is there to stay, so I’m along for this ride for at least a week.

“Dah, no toast!” yells Ben. _If it were only that easy, kid._ I wouldn’t mind taking that toast off his plate, but Katniss is giving me a look. We get eggs and spinach and goat cheese! I fucking love toast.

“Gotta eat at least one triangle, buddy. Then you can go to school!” Or day care.

“Can I have peanut butter and fluff today, Mommy? You promised!” Tess shows us her empty lunchbox and Katniss nods, taking it from our girl.

Despite their father being the best baker in town, our kids throw tantrums if they don’t get their Wonder bread. So there’s Katniss, spreading Jif and Fluff on that abnormally spongy and uniform “bread” that I’d only eat it if I was desperate, and I’m not. I notice that she has to stop herself from nibbling on the discarded crusts. Bad habits die hard.

“Okay! Auntie Delly is coming! Everyone take your lunches and get ready to go!” Delly honks her horn from the driveway and we shuffle the kids out. Since two of her kids attend Hillcrest with Tess, and her youngest is enrolled at Benny’s day care, our families swap weeks to carpool.

As we turn back to the house, Katniss asks, “So, any questions about today?”

Sigh. “Not really. No bread.”

“No bread, no pasta, no breading on stuff, no crackers, no cookies—”

“Yeah, I got it. Meat, cheese, eggs, veggies, fruit.” I shouldn’t snap at her. It’s the bread talking. “I think I got it. Thanks, Babe.”

“We can do this! I know it will be hard, but it’ll feel really good in the end.”

…

Do you know that you can go through gluten withdrawal? Yeah. It’s like coming off of caffeine, or probably some hard line drug that I don’t know about. It’s fucking brutal. My head hurts, I am hungry, annoyed, lethargic and really pissed off with my career choice right now. I have to make this shit all day and smell it and sell it. It is torture.

Day one, you say? Try day fucking five. Five days of back-and-forth. First there’s the gas that has forced Katniss to retreat to the spare bedroom at night. It’s not like I can help it; we’re putting kale in almost everything. That progressed to being so constipated that I’ve been downing coffee in an effort to, um, ease things along. Unsuccessfully, I might add. I’d eat cheese, but fucking “Wheat Belly” says to ease up on dairy.

I want to drive to Milwaukee and shove a baguette in Dr. Davis’ face.

But what really gets me is Katniss. My wife is full of energy, all sunshine and spinach and apples, while I’m crying out for a bowel movement. She assures me that this is challenging for her, too, but that it will be worth it in the end. I’m not so sure.

Five days. Why am I fixating on that number? It’s been five days since I’ve been with my wife and it is driving me insane. It’s probably the fact that our bed turned into a Dutch oven of such disgust that even I’m turned off, but I miss her. She hasn’t mentioned it, and I guess I thought she would. Didn’t she miss being close?

“Katniss?”

She looks up from where she’s perched near the edge of the couch, reading that damned book. “Yeah, Sweets?”

“I’m heading up to bed. You going to join me soon?” I offer her a shy smile, hoping to convey just how much I miss _us_.

“Um, I’m not really tired yet. But you go ahead. I know you have to be up early.” She looks back down and I don’t even have the heart to be mad. I feel like shit, I look like shit, and I smell like…you know.

_Shit._

After checking on the kids and brushing my teeth, I settle into bed and turn off the lights. I can’t turn off my head, though. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get over this feeling of rejection. I know I’ve kind of let myself go and that all of this work will be for the best, but right now I’m missing our life before this. I mean, I’d rather have a little something for Katniss to grab onto versus not having her grab onto anything—

_Fuck._ I hate this.

I toss and turn, finally admitting that I won’t be getting any sleep. The clock shows 11:45 and I wonder if Katniss is in bed. She’s not in the bed she should be, and I vow to take some Beano tomorrow morning.

Wait. Why in the hell didn’t I think of this sooner? Christ! I’m taking the Beano immediately and asking my wife to come back to our room. Swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress, I try to avoid the creaky planks and begin making my way to the top of the stairwell, where I notice the faint glow coming from downstairs. Katniss is still up?

I’m about to take my first step down when I hear a soft sigh. I shake my head, knowing that she’s probably getting down on herself over that damned book. I swear I will kiss every inch of her glorious b—

“Oh, fuck me!”

Say what?! I freeze and my heartbeat quickens.

She moans and my heart falls to my stomach. She’s taking matters into her own hands, _literally_. I’m smelly and apparently useless now. Usually I’d be all pumped to hear Katniss get herself off, but knowing that it’s not me, knowing that she’s made the choice to take care of her own needs versus come to her farty husband…well, that sucks.

“Oh my goooddddddd, Peeta.”

Back up just a minute. Did she just moan my name? I nod and stretch. Yup! You might smell like ass, but you still have the best ass, Mellark! Awwwwww, yeah. I’m gonna double up on that Gas-X stuff and take care of business! I will knead those buns myself!

Deciding to sneak up on my unsuspecting lover, I take my time descending the stairs. She’s panting a little bit, and I’m totally getting worked up just listening to her.

“God, I’m getting warm,” she mutters. “I need something to drink.” I hear the faucet run and a slight delay before she sighs contentedly. “Oh yeah. Come to mama.”

Come to mama? What in the hell is she using, anyway? We don’t keep anything questionable outside of our bedroom, but I know it has to be good.

Go ahead, Katniss. You’re going to have a long night.

I’m finally at the bottom of the stairs and I peek around the corner to see my wife facing away from me, her hair wild against her back, her arms braced on the kitchen counter. She tosses her head back and moans again. I’m so confused…she can will herself to orgasm now? I don’t get it.

“Babe?”

She screams and a butter knife hits the floor as she whirls to face me, her hand clasping over her mouth.

"Peeta!" Her muffled words barely make it past her fingers. "Jesus, you scared me!"

"What on earth are you doing?" I inch closer, trying to figure out how she’s managed to—

"Don’t! Just stay there! I don’t want you to see this!"

"Katniss, I’m your husband! You don’t have to be embarrassed," I coo as I walk closer. "I’ve missed you, too. So much. Babe, I was worried you didn’t want me. But you do, right? I heard you moaning—" I stop when I spot the crumbs on Katniss’ chin. I take a deep, cleansing breath.

_Oh._

"Peeta, you need to understand—"

"Where is it?"

"I don’t know—"

"Where is it? For fucks sake, I need it!"

"I couldn’t help it! I don’t want to help it!"

I reach for the rather large bit of crust that has managed to wedge itself between my wife’s lips, taking it quickly before grabbing the sides of her face and kissing her roughly, tasting almost everything I’ve ever wanted.

"Oh fuck, please, Katniss. Please. Where is it?"

"Here," she gasps. "I have unsalted butter, too. I had to do it, Peeta. I was going crazy without you. I asked Delly to bring this." We twist together and reach for the loaf of sourdough, moaning in unison as we take inhuman bites.

"I tasted cookies. Where are the cookies?" I’m getting dizzy and warm with the sugar rush.

"I found some Nilla Wafers. It’s all we have," she cries, frantically shoving her hand into the yellow box. "But they were for the kids."

"These cookies suck," I growl as I take four. "I’ll make them more."

"With frosting?" she gasps. "Please with frosting and sprinkles."

I hold her against the counter and grunt. “You’ll take whatever I bake and you’ll like it.”

"No kale," she breathes.

 

 

 


End file.
